


My Soul's A Sorry State

by kitsunechikyu



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Brotherly Love, Coda, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Episode: s13e21 Beat the Devil, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Near Death Experiences, Other, Panic Attacks, Post-Episode: s13e21 Beat the Devil, Sam Winchester Needs a Hug, Self-Esteem Issues, Trauma, but it isn't confirmed exactly, destiel is mostly pre-slash, there is hints of it, this is mostly the boys comforting sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-05-02 08:04:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14540352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitsunechikyu/pseuds/kitsunechikyu
Summary: "Sam wants to laugh. The devil doesn’t negotiate. He just takes, and takes, and takes, until there is nothing left. He steals everything. Will power, hope, love. Even death, Sam thinks."(Post episode 13x21, Sam is really shaken up. Dean and Cas comfort him.)(Aka; Sam deserves a fucking hug, so he gets one.)





	My Soul's A Sorry State

**Author's Note:**

> This is a slightly self-indulgent coda fic, but I just wanted to hug Sam so badly in the last episode, so I made Dean and Cas do it for me. I hope this isn't too ooc, I tried to make it as in character as I could. I hope you guys like it <3

_"Don't say I'm better off dead_  
_Cause heaven's full and hell won't have me_  
_Won't you make some room in your bed_  
_Well you could lock me up in your heart_  
_And throw away the key_  
_Won't you take me out of my head?"_

\- And the Snakes Start to Sing (BMTH)

 

 

 

Sam feels empty.

 

He feels torn apart; hollowed out and scraped raw to a point where his limbs have gone numb and his mind has turned to white static. His skin feels wrong, like it isn’t his own, and he desperately wants to claw it off. 

 

The crowd of rebels mingle around him; gathering supplies and loading guns, whispering in panicked voices about the devil landing on their doorstep. They are all hovering outside of what seems to be the camp’s main tent, listening to the muffled sounds of Jack and Mary as they attempt to negotiate with Lucifer. 

 

Sam wants to laugh. The devil doesn’t negotiate. He just takes, and takes, and takes, until there is nothing left. He steals everything. Will power, hope, love. _Even death,_ Sam thinks _._ He squeezes his eyes shut and takes a shuddering breath. 

 

He’s still covered in mud and sweat. The blood on his neck has dried in streaking patterns, making him look like a grim Jackson Pollock painting. The air is cold and damp, so much so that Sam can almost blame his shivering on the temperature instead of on how terrified he is. He burrows deeper into his jacket and presses the palms of his hands into the bark of the log he’s sitting on. He wants to crawl into a hole and hide. He wants to scream and cry and break things, but he can’t. He can hardly move. 

 

Dean and Cas have gone to get him some water and a blanket. Sam had had about two seconds to greet them, as well as Jack and his mom, before the whole camp descended into its current state of chaos. There hadn’t been time to have a reunion — Sam gets it — but having Dean out of his sight is making him even jumpier than before. He knows he should be worried about Mary and Jack — and he is; they were the whole reason behind this trip and now they are talking to the literal embodiment of evil — but suddenly all he can think about is the overwhelming need to be near his brother and his best friend. 

 

What if Dean gets angry with him? Sam was the one who insisted on going through the tunnels, after all. He’s the one who put them all in that position. He also said yes to Lucifer’s offer without fighting back. He was desperate enough — weak enough — to just walk ahead of him and lead this camp full of innocent people to their possible doom. God, he’s so pathetic. Part of him wishes he’d stayed dead. 

 

Sam clenches his jaw as the phantom sensation of teeth sinking into his flesh starts his stomach rolling. He can hear Lucifer’s voice ringing in his ears. _I was the one who brought you back to life and I was the one who lifted you from the darkness and into the light._ Sam wants to throw up.

 

He stands abruptly when Dean’s voice sounds in the distance. Sam can see him through the clearing with Cas in tow, carrying a pile of blankets and a new shirt in his arms. Dean looks almost as wrecked as Sam feels. They glance up at Sam as he tries to stay solid on otherwise very wobbly legs. Dean’s expression automatically pinches with worry. 

 

“Hey, Sammy, sit down,” Dean says, hand extending as they get closer. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

 

His voice is soft, the way it used to get when Sam was little and had the flu. It’s so gentle that Sam’s eyes start to water a little and he has to shut them to keep the tears at bay. He wants to say he’s fine, that he isn’t going to faint, but what comes out is:

 

“I can’t be here.”

 

Dean and Cas share a look and Sam’s breathing starts to pick up.

 

“Okay, what do you-” Dean starts.

 

“I just, I can’t- I need to be somewhere else. There are too many people and I… I need to get out of this shirt,” Sam finishes, lamely.

 

He needs to keep it together. There are bigger things going on right now. He can’t have a meltdown, that wouldn’t be fair to all of the other people around him that are obviously in crisis. But the devil is inside the camp, Sam _lead_ him here, and he’s barely two hundred meters away from them. Sam needs to get out of sight for a minute or else the dam is going to break and he’s going to lose it. 

 

He walks closer to Dean and grabs his shoulder a bit frantically. 

 

“Please, Dean.”

 

“Yeah, okay, Sammy, we’ll find you a place to change.”

 

Dean puts a steadying hand on his back and nods at Cas, who takes the blankets from him. The three of them move towards one of the smaller huts off to the side marked storage. A very startled looking couple jumps apart when they open the door and Dean’s hunter mask immediately slips back into place.

 

“You two. Out,” he says, jabbing a finger at the entrance. 

 

They try to argue for a minute, but ultimately seem to decide it isn’t worth invoking the wrath of the strange man holding a pistol. Sam quietly apologizes as they make their way out.

 

Sam’s skin prickles less now that they are away from the eyes of the camp, but the empty, nauseating feeling is still clawing up his throat. His arms are heavy where they hang at his sides and his head hurts. 

 

Cas places the blankets and shirt, as well as a bottle of water, on top of a large barrel and gazes uncertainly over at Dean. Dean’s eyes keep flicking all over Sam, like if he looks away, he’s going to disappear. 

 

“We can wait outside, if you’d prefer,” Cas says.

 

Sam shakes his head.

 

“No, you don’t have to. Can you just… turn around?” he asks, quietly.

 

It’s stupid, Dean and Cas have seen him without a shirt on before. They aren’t a couple of embarrassed teenage boys in a locker room. But Sam’s body still feels wrong; _dirty_. He doesn’t want to feel any more vulnerable than he already does, but he also doesn’t want them to leave. He needs their presence.

 

Dean and Cas oblige and Sam quickly strips off his bloody shirts. The flannel sticks to his collarbone and it burns when he rips it off, but the slight pain grounds him in the moment. He tries to rub off a little of the excess on his neck with some of the water and the drier part of his t-shirt. It doesn’t do a whole lot. He slides the new shirt on and folds the old ones into the neatest pile he can manage before sighing and facing his brother and best friend.

 

“Okay,” he says. “I’m, uh, decent.”

 

Dean turns first and gives him a once over, clearly scanning for injuries. The silence in the room is thick with grief, even though all three of them are very much alive.

 

“Sammy, I-” Dean starts. “I thought you were- Cas said we couldn’t…”

 

He trails off, with his hand gesturing vaguely. 

 

This is the part they haven’t had time for yet: the debriefing. Sam leans back on the table behind him and grips its edge.

 

“I was,” he says. “You couldn’t have saved me. I was gone before you even managed to get that other guy off of you.”

 

His voice is hoarse from disuse. He looks down at his feet and tries to force his heart to calm in his chest. Both Cas and Dean have moved forward slightly, but are actively giving Sam space, just like they had in the bunker’s kitchen a couple days ago. They’d gotten better at not physically intruding unless it seemed welcomed or necessary. Sam appreciates it more than he can say.

 

“So then, Lucifer… he really brought you back?” Dean asks. His face is hard and protective.

 

Sam flinches and nods.

 

“One minute I was lying on the ground, my throat ripped out, and the next I was standing in that vamp nest face to face with… him.”

 

Sam can’t bring himself to say the name. It’s like acid on his tongue. The more he repeats it, the more it burns. Dean nods like he understands.

 

“And then he followed you here?” he asks.

 

“Yeah,” Sam says, bitterly. “He wanted to use me as a gesture of good faith. A ‘gift’. To get Jack to like him.” 

 

He shakes his head and lets out the hollowest chuckle he’s ever produced. The absurdity of the devil wanting a loving relationship with his son is almost enough to make Sam laugh properly. 

 

“Jack is smarter than that,” Cas says. 

 

“I hope so,” Dean mumbles. 

 

Cas shoots him a look and Dean glares back briefly, but not entirely unkindly. It isn’t lost on Sam just how much the two of them communicate without words, or how much they obviously care about each other (which is more than either of them probably want to admit). Sam’s lips quirk into a half smile before he lets the reality of the situation settle back in. He grips the table harder and chokes out his next words.

 

“He gave me a choice, Dean,” he says.

 

His older brother’s eyes meet his with an intensity that makes Sam want to shrivel up. Dean is obviously angry, but Sam wants to get this out there. He wants to tear the bandaid off and have Dean do whatever he’s going to do. If he’s going to yell, he’d rather it be now, when they are alone.

 

Sam takes a deep breath. 

 

“Lucifer was holding the vampires back,” he says. “He told me that I could either come with him, back to the camp and back to you, or I could refuse and he’d let them eat me alive again.”

 

Bile climbs up Sam’s throat. He swallows it down and digs his nails into the wood below him.

 

“And I… I said yes,” he continues. “I didn’t- I couldn’t- I thought I was finally gone for good and then _he_ brought me back. He was just standing there, looking at me like he always does. Like I _owe_ him, like I _belong_ to him, and all I could think was that I wanted to see you and mom and Jack and- ”

 

Sam’s vision begins to blur, causing the room to swim in front of him. He rubs an arm over his face, trying and failing to keep it together. His hands are trembling violently now, vibrations traveling up his arms and making his shoulders shake. His chest feels like it’s going to cave in, like he’s drowning slowly, even though there is plenty of air.

 

Dean’s hands are on him in an instant. He wraps his arms around Sam’s tall frame and pulls him downward so that his head is closer to his chest. Warm fingers reach the back of his neck and squeeze gently. 

 

“Hey, hey, Sammy. It’s okay. It’s okay,” he says. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Sam says, still trying to keep himself from crying.

 

“You don’t need to be sorry, Sam,” Cas says fiercely. 

 

At some point Cas’ hand had found its way to Sam’s back.

 

“I lead him here. I could’ve fought him, but I didn’t. I was too weak,” Sam says, grabbing Dean’s shirt tightly. 

 

“You are not _weak_ , Sam Winchester,” Cas says, his fingers now rubbing circles between his shoulder blades. “You and Dean are the two strongest people I have ever known.”

 

“This is on him,” Dean adds, softly. “S’not your fault, Sam.”

 

“But, Dean, he-”

 

Dean shakes his head against Sam’s temple.

 

“I know. It’s not your fault.”

 

“I hate him,” Sam whispers, finally losing his battle with his tears. 

 

“I know, Sammy. I’ve got you. _We’ve_ got you.”

 

Sam nods. He’s still sick with guilt and shame and anger, but the people he loves are all alive for the moment, and that is more than he could have hoped for. He sinks into Dean and Cas and allows himself to breathe and cry quietly for a minute. 

 

“It’s okay,” Dean says again and Sam tries his hardest to believe it.

 

 


End file.
